


What we find in the sea

by acheforhim (oaknshild)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alchemic references, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Ficlet, Insight, M/M, Murder Husbands, Mythological References, The Author Regrets Nothing, They're so in love it's disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oaknshild/pseuds/acheforhim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),</em>
  <br/>
  <em>It's always our self we find in the sea.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we find in the sea

He was crimson. His scent was coppery, Hannibal noticed, due to all the darkness stuck to him.

“It does look black in the moonlight.”

There was an unexpected pressure in his chest, a rapid flutter, an urgency to breathe, to pull more and more air; a brief moment of dizziness, blood bumping, boiling, quickening the steady tempo of his heartbeats, before their gaze met.

He noticed Will’s scarlet mouth, furious – Achilles didn’t pity Hector – and elate.

They had moved feet after feet, limbs assuming positions precisely when they meant to, steps elegantly taken, a profound awareness of one another in an improvised _pas de deux_ , a duet of dissonant scores that, overlaid, finally revealed themselves as a powerful, dreadful symphony.

Hannibal thought of wild animals hunting under the moonlight, claws and jaws gasping and tearing apart, paws and mouths bloodstained; of old partners, movements coordinated by practice, purposeful in their actions; of mythical prophets of wickedness, heretic, mischievous, terribly unholy; of faceless deities, hunger, thirsty, rejoicing in a debauchery partaken in body and mind. They were warriors, monsters, artists, predators.

Dragon slayers.

They had communed in blood and breath.

 _Hieros gamos_ , he recalled. _Mysterium coniunctionis_.

He couldn't look away, awed by the spectacle unfolding in front of him; he could drown in the sight of the younger man and feel somewhat satisfied but he’d be always, _always_ craving. Since his first time in France, Hannibal Lecter assured himself to dwell on beauty: he had proudly acquired and kept exquisite books, paintings and sculptures; he had invested in clothing, had learnt to master and honour the gastronomic art, the dancing, the literary arts and the swordsmanship with impeccable dexterity; he had taken his times investigating the intricacies of the human body, and had lifted his killings from carnages into master pieces, delicate and subtle compositions of a sensible artist within frames of brutality. He had mocked at people for their lack of insight, for their dull tragedies and irrelevant joys; they were nothing more than weaker opponents, disposable pieces in a rather predictable (and astonishingly fun) game.

When Hannibal first heard of this unstable agent from Jack, his imagination ran riot with anticipation; the possibility of a friendship, the promise of a unique, interesting mind to admire and explore seemed both refreshing to him. When they finally met, he couldn't think but how all the masters of old had failed in their attempts to capture and portray a grace like this. A striking, sublime, primal beauty.

He had seen an equal.

He helped his partner to stand; his panting spread warmth against his chest, and Hannibal indulged in the sensation.

“This is all I ever wanted for you, Will”, he said, voice low in reverence. “For both of us.”

Will was still trembling, his pulse racing as the result of the adrenaline and the bittersweet confession whispered right above him, _to_ him. He could see nothing but Hannibal standing in front of him, tall, broad, suddenly unsure; he wouldn’t dare to hope, and Will felt his doubts mirrored within himself. He shivered with the cold wind that blew to the sea and took a step closer, a new intimacy blooming between them. A novelty to share.

His throat choked with words never said, his eyes burnt with tears long withheld.

“Leave him, save yourself”, his thoughts shouted at him, but there was no one to be saved. He had gone beyond his own being in a journey of blood and death, Jonah willing to be made captive by the beast and to be dragged into the depths of darkness, only to find the Devil himself, glorious, bright and beautiful, and hold him tight between his pale arms. His moral was lost, for he was enamoured with a monster – not a monster, a _man_ with a monster on his back.

But Will understood _Il Mostro_ , the Chesapeake Ripper, the Copycat killer. He had seen their reasons, felt their pride and contentment - echoes of old nightmares, cues of repressed inclinations - as his own. He once had his heart, rare bird, and chose to swallow it whole, head and intentions unveiled to God. He had chosen damnation, years ago. He had fought his inclinations and denied his feelings for so long, pretending that he hadn't wanted to leave with him (with _them_ ), guilt and regret for his own dishonesty still sore inside him. He had betrayed Hannibal and by doing so, he betrayed himself. They both ended up deeply hurt, and Will couldn’t bear it anymore.

He looked inside two obscure pools, finally able to breath, life returning to him in a violent gasp. Relief and excitement spread like drugs through his veins, his mind relishing in the new path ahead.

He now belonged to underworld, powerful sovereign alongside his partner. He had transcended: he had become.

“It’s beautiful”. It was magnificent, he thought, it was a new awakening, it was a rebirth.

His arms tightened around his beloved’s neck, and he breathed, eyes closed, into the inebriating scent of the man. The ground opened under their feet, and the sea awaited.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there were bits in which it could be difficult to say of whom I was speaking. Well, they already have begun to blur. *winks*  
> The title is based on "maggie and milly and molly and may" by e. e. cummings, also quoted in the summary. The expressions are greek and latin respectively, and mean "holy marriage" and "mysterious conjunction".  
> This whole thing is unbeta'd, all the mistakes are my own. :)  
> Comments and feedback will be most appreciated, I'd love to hear your opinions on this!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://acheforhim.tumblr.com/).


End file.
